Beth's story
by frankiebaby
Summary: Elizabeth March wanted nothing more than to live quietly at home and care for those around her. Now a young woman, she wonders if that's all she's good for. Picks up "Little Women" after Jo leaves for New York. Canon for the most part! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

"Delivery for Miss Elizabeth March!" Laurie bellowed, bursting through the kitchen door with much fanfare. He'd collected the letters and bundles in the post-box that morning, after they'd been baptized gently by a chilly September rain. Collecting the mail was one of Beth's few duties, but he knew it was unlikely his fail neighbor would venture out to-day. Her constitution was still very delicate, and would be treated so.

"Beth?" here, the young master Laurence tried again, pausing for a moment to remove his dirty overshoes, leaving them out on the porch. Hannah had threatened, in usual fashion, to make Laurie eat any mud he tracked in after a particularly bad episode two months before, on a day as rainy as this one. Laurie then banged the old door with a terrific rattle that only had been rivaled by Jo in the past. He did it somewhat deliberately now; it was a fitting tribute to her absence, he thought. "Beth-!"

In the next moment, Laurie was accousted suddenly by a wild-haired, wide-eyed appirition that rounded the corner in a flash, shawls dropping on the floor behind it. The creature gesculated wildly before clapping a hand over his mouth. He recognized her after the moment had passed; it was Beth, and she was clearly very agitated.

"Sh-sh-sh-!" the smaller girl hissed, almost frantically. Laurie's eyebrows shot skyward; this was most uncharacteristic of his gentle neighbor. "What-" he managed from behind her hand.

"Oh, do hush," Beth begged, looking over her shoulder furtively, speaking in a stage whisper. "The Moffats are here to see father, they say- and I wouldn't mind it- much- except that Ned is with them. Mother told them that I'm resting, but they mustn't know I'm in here."

"Indeed!" Laurie's brows reached thier limit. "Well, I cannot blame your avoiding his company."

Poor Beth had calmed down now that Laurie lowered his voice. With a nod of thanks, she reached out and took the small bundle of letters from him and placed them on the table. "I'm not afraid of company," she said softly, squaring thin shoulders. "Not as much anymore. But I don't care for Mr. Moffat. He-he smirks a great deal, and he used mother's good china for his cigar when last he was here."

Beth's voice was so quietly indignant that it reminded Laurie of the mouse that roared; he told her so, laughed silently, and bent and kissed her on both cheeks, French-fashion, very brotherly. "Perhaps I should go out and say hello." He bent to retrieve the shawls that Beth had lost earlier, draping then over her arm. "I haven't seen him at the club lately."

"Annie is there too," Beth said a little primly.

Laurie looked taken aback; then he laughed again without sound, albeit a little more uncertainly than before.

"Annie-Annie, did you say? Well, p'rhaps I won't then."

Beth was too shy and too well-mannered to pry as Jo would have done, or even Amy, but the sudden bend of her head seemed to have same effect on Laurie as a priest to a confessor. "It has been some time since- well, can't even call it a flirtation, really, we both were just having a bit of fun-"

No reply from Beth.

"Oh- hang it!" The young man planted himself emphatically onto the hired boy's stool, then stretched out his long legs defiantly, taking up a quarter of the space in the kitchen as he did so. "You don't scold as Jo does, but somehow you're worse."

"I have nothing to say." He could barely hear her.

"No?"

"No. Annie is very...social," Beth tried. "Like you, sometimes."

"Indeed she is," Lauries agrees with more than a hint of irony. "But she is not for me. Neither am I for her, which she would realize if her mother would abandon her foolish notions..."

Beth's face grew hot and she said nothing; she was unused to such frank talk, and did not know what to say.

"Anyway-!" Laurie broke out of his reverie and gave himself a little shake, as if ridding himself of the distasteful subject. "It looks like we are quite trapped, for we cannot go upstairs without being seen, and we cannot go round to my place, as it is quite damp outside-" he nodded in the direction of the sodden letters he'd brought in. Beth was turning one of them over in her hands, eyes suddenly bright in her thin face.

"You are not listening to my ruminations, Miss March," Laurie teased; then his face quite altered. "Is it...Jo?"

Beth nodded, delightedly. "It's so thick," she said with childlike pleasure, running her finger-tips over it. She would not open it before Marmee was there, although she was tempted.

" I see." Laurie tried with some difficulty to keep jealously from his tone. Since Jo's flight to New York a month ago, he'd only received two brief missives; one coal-dust stained, ink-spattered post-card featuring two hideously fat cherubs, announcing she had arrived safely, and the other a handbill on the dissipative effects of sweet-fern cigars on the male brain. Amusing, yes- but hardly satisfactory, given how much he-

Laurie looked up then and then colored rapidly when he saw that Beth was watching him keenly, a new softness in her eyes.

"I'll read bits to you if you like," she said in her usual manner; and Laurie cleared his throat, embarrassed.

"Might be amusing, hearing what scarapes the dear old girl's got herslef into," he said roundly, hating the roughness in his voice.

An awkward moment passed, during which Laurie rubbed a hand over the fashionably shorn head that Jo complained about so much before leaving. Beth glanced at him as she went methodically through the rest of the mail, thinking idly that it was a shame he'd sacrificed the thick waves; his curly crop had made his eyes seem darker, brighter, if that was at all possible.

Laurie's eyes suddenly met hers, and it was _her _turn to flush. He didn't notice though; he was preoccupied with some other thought, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"Beth," he spoke soberly, then broke off. "I'm not- that is, I can't-"

"It's all right." she reached out hesitantly, touched his arm. Laurie never had favored her with the kind of confidences he shared with Jo or even Amy, sometimes- but she knew that now she was all he had. She fumbled over her next words very awkwardly, but quite sincerely-

"If you should ever want to talk, Laurie-"

"Thank you, Beth." Laurie answered quickly; his voice was kind as usual, but the meaning was evident. Beth dropped her eyes, turned away. An uncomfortable silence descended, one that Laurie broke in seconds by speaking quickly, lightly-

"Heavens, suddenly I'm as hungry as an angry she-bear. What is there by the way of food, Beth? We'll have an early tea."

Beth cleared her throat, a little hurt at being brushed aside so easily- was she a child, after all? She might not be Jo or even Amy, but-

"Beth?" he was peering at her now, eyes worried.

"Of course you can have a bit, if you want it." She found herself answering him quite naturally, and he visibly relaxed. She began to rummage about in the pantry, glad to occupy her hands. "We've new bread, very light and good; Hannah did a baking last night. There's marmalade and olives and sardines and cold hash from this morning, and-"

"Squashed-fly biscuits!" Laurie exalted, falling upon the little currant cookies with enthusiasm; they were his favorite, Beth remembered belatedly.

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Beth." He was practically bounding now, full of his old energy. "Give me your shawl-"

"Why, Laurie-"

"-and step out into the hall with me. We," Laurie announced grandly, "will have a picnic, Miss March."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the nicest picnic Beth had ever been on, and she told Laurie so between bites of marmalade and bread, eating with more appetite than she'd felt in months. Laurie had spread her shawl and two tea-towels on the hall floor, using his broadcloth overcoat as a cushion for Beth- and they reclined with quite a lack of gentility, enjoying their sundry lunch while eavesdropping on their elegant callers.

"We mustn't, Laurie, it really is too bad," Beth had protested initially when he suggested the scheme- and indeed, it seemed rather wicked to her. Beth's protests became half-hearted, though, for as she prepared their lunch the bad boy popped in and out of the hall, claiming to overhear snippets of conversation that made her eyes grow wide as the stories grew more fantastic. Annie was joining the army as a nurse- Mrs. Moffat admitted she was descended from a line of pirates- Ned wished to make her his wife along with Sallie Gardnier, as he had turned Mormon-

Finally, laughing softly as she hadn't since she was a girl, Beth joined him, and he was right- it was amusing. The Moffats were eager to share every bit of malicious gossip in their arsenal and Mrs. March was just as eager to wet-blanket them; Annie made absurd comments when talk turned academic that she clearly thought were quite perceptive; Ned teased her mercilessly; she said some very sharp things to him; Mrs. Moffat scolded them absent-mindedly, while asking Mrs. March what she clearly thought were tactful questions about their financial state now that Mr. March was home ("_Will_ there be an income now?")

"Oh, how horrid," Beth whispered to Laurie, who was shaking with suppressed mirth. He laughed until the conversation turned to him, with Annie asking very pointed questions about if he would be expected that day; then it was Beth's turn to laugh.

The hall door suddenly opened after a particularly long lull- and Marmee stepped into the hall, lips compressed. Laurie flew to his feet, looking guilty; Beth was not as quick, and ended up tumbling on her side, clutching Laurie's trouser-leg for support.

Marmee's mouth dropped open; she was unaccustomed to seeing her third daughter so undignified. One look at the pale young lady and the scarlet young gentleman, though, and she knew exactly what they'd been up to.

"Marmee-" Beth began, mortified.

Mrs. March's mouth twitched. "Tidy your mess before you leave, Laurie," she said, then gave him a maternal pat on the cheek before disappearing into the kitchen- to refresh the tea-pot, apparently.

Laurie and Beth exhaled at the same time; Laurie sank back down on his haunches, but Beth, feeling guilty, began picking up thier tea things.

"Oh, she didn't mind, Beth- she's probably delighted you're having a good time._ I _know I haven't seen you look so well in ages," Laurie said, snaking his arm round her in order to snag a raisin from the crock she was trying to cover.

Beth supressed a smile despite herself and was about to answer, when suddenly a voice came through the door, clear and most likely louder than was intended-

"-I thought she was at home. Where i_s_ the girl? I begin to doubt she exists."

"Haven't seen her in years-" this was Ned, answering his sister. "I really can't say I would remember what the child looks like."

"She was quite ill, wasn't she?" This was Mrs. Moffat. "Such a pity. I heard she recovered, though- she is old enough to be out, and should be- the youngest is abroad, and the one before her is gadding away in New York. Working as a governess, or something just as vulgar. What can her mother be thinking? Is she delicate? "

"A bit, but not crippingly so." This was Annie, whose voice took on the tone of an expert on Beth, and all invalids for that matter. "She is...sweet. Not unattractive, although of course she's frightfully thin-"

"I thought that was a good thing." Ned apparently poked his sister at his juncture- shee squeaked a bit, but continued after a bit of rustling.

"I see her in the garden sometimes, at church. A poor, gentle creature of no spirit whatsoever." Annie paused again. "I remember her from when we were girls- barely. She never went to school, only ventured out sometimes, a virtual church mouse. Visiting the poor- that's what made her ill in the first place."

Mrs. Moffat sighed audibly. "A pity- she is such a burden. If she is out of danger, then, why doesn't she do something with herself-?"

Ned's deep chuckle came in. "March has a surplus of daughters, mother. He can afford for one to be useless."

At this cut, Laurie inhaled sharply- and turned to look at Beth; they'd both been listening in horror. However, all he saw was the hem off her skirt, disappearing through the kitchen door, just as her mother came out. The older woman's face was creased with confusion. "Beth just- is she-"

"I'll check," Laurie said, then sprang up, went in the kitchen after Beth.


	2. Chapter 2

Laurie had always suspected—no, knew—that his gentle neighbor was made of far sterner stuff than anyone suspected, but he had never seen it more confirmed than when he burst in the kitchen moments later, and found Beth calmly wrapping up their leftover bread-and-butter in a bit of wax paper.

"Beth—"

"You'll want to take this home, won't you, Laurie?" Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her, but it was steady—and when he bent over her, he could see that the grey-blue eyes were dry. "And the herring. Please do—no one else will eat it, and the butter will turn soon."

"I—" he took the little wax-paper parcel from her, thrust it into his pocket. It would be dreadfully squashed later, but neither of them cared. "Beth. I heard—"

"I'm tired, Laurie," she cut in, interrupting him for perhaps the first time in her life. He saw the pointed chin- Lord, how thin her face was!- tremble just a fraction; and at that moment he could have killed Ned Moffat and pleasured in it. "I think…I think I shall retire now. I'll see you another time, yes?"

"Beth—"

"Please, Laurie." Her voice sounded strained, though she maintained her dignity. He straightened up slowly, knowing how important it was for her to keep it, and made as if to go.

"Tomorrow?" he asked gently.

"Yes, please." The look she gave him was so unwittingly grateful that he was moved; impulsively, he bent, kissed her on one pale cheek. Her skin was smooth and cool against his lips; he reached forward, brushed the spot with his knuckles. Depite her discomfort he was pleased to see color bloom there, and his mouth curved upward.

"Please rest, Bethy."

"I will, Laurie." She folded her slim hands in an unconcious imitation of her mother, lifted her lips into a smile of sorts, then fixed her eyes on him, watched him leave the kitchen.

Her smile didn't falter until the door closed.

When he was gone, Beth's shoulders slumped forward; and suddenly exhausted, she leaned hard against the kitchen table. Her heart-beat drummed in her ears, with the queer little flutters that often came when she was overexcited; she could hear Marmee's voice in the sitting room, the gentle rise and fall. Thier guests would be leaving soon, and Marmee would want-

But, she couldn't see her like this, Beth said to herself, biting her lip hard. She was a woman now, not a girl- she WOULD not cry. She closed her eyes, concentrated on breathing, on quieting her thudding heart.

Useless? Was that truly how she was seen? Was she nothing but a burden to the family she'd wanted nothing more than to stay with forever?

There was untamed Jo, writing in wild New York; beautiful Amy, touring the Old World; gentle Meg, a wife and mother; and she-

Too well to be considered invalid, but too sick to be of any use. And she had just submitted to this illness- she hadn't even tried- had she...had she?

Wordlessly, Beth pushed out of the kitchen, uncaring of the guests, and fled upstairs to her room.

XXX

Laurie came to see her early the next day as she knew he would, and she was ready, seated at the wobbly secretary in Jo's old writing room, papers spread all around her. She was fully dressed; excitement burned rich color into her cheeks, like the stain of an overambitious artist on the pale face of a Madonna. She looked up and met his concerned black eyes with a slight smile; then, with one of her shy gestures, she asked him to come and sit.

Heartened, Laurie did so.

"I'm glad you came," she said. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "After yesterday-"

"Ned Moffat is a fool!" Laurie broke in heatedly.

Beth shook her head so violently that her shawl slipped off her shoulders. "No. No, Laurie. I'm afraid that he had- well, I saw his view."

"How-" Laurie sputtered.

"I fear I've been somewhat selfish." Beth's voie increased in volume not a bit, but at the sound of it Laurie quieted instantly. "I haven't tried, Laurie. Not as I should have."

"You've been ill, Beth!"

"And not doing much, except sitting and letting poke at me, and letting everyone wait on me hand and foot-" her voice became strangled, but she swallowed hard. Her hands were shaking, but she lifted them long enough to place a couple of the papers in his hand. "Look, Laurie."

He did, turning them over; they were circulars. Pamphlets. For doctors. Specialtists, heart New York, Hartford, Boston...

She inhaled, began to speak again very rapidly. "When Jo was here, she used to send for these. She would read them over, show them to Marmee, Father...she was saving to pay for one if needed. She wanted me to go, to be examined, to be...looked at."

"Very like Jo," Laurie said soberly, wondering where this was going. He had much to say, but Beth so rarely confided in him that he wanted her to complete her thoughts.

"I...I told her not to." Here a shadow passed over Beth's small face; and Laurie stood, moved to perch on the desk where he could hear her better. "I didn't want to go, to leave, to be poked and prodded and tried by...strangers, to be treated, and then if it didn't work-" her voice broke then, and she inhaled sharply before continuing, as if bolstering herself to go on. "Soon after she left for New York. I never was willing to fight, Laurie. Not the way I should have. I just wanted to sit home and be comfortable and not be of any trouble to anyone, but..."

She trailed off here, and the large eyes grew very full; her fingers were tangling in her skirt, knotting the fabric, wrinkling it dreadfully. Laurie's hand came down then, large and brown; it covered both of hers completely, stilled them. "Beth," Laurie said; his voice was low now, almost as much as hers. "What do you want to do?"

In thaat moment Beth knew no elaborate pretenses were needed; she shot him a grateful look, and the tension leaked from her thin frame. "I want to see one of them. A...specialist," she said with enough hesitancy to show how foreign she found the idea. "I want to...I want to see if anything can be done for me...for this," she finished, gesturing to herself with a thin hand.

Silence reigned in the small dusty room for a full moment; then Laurie shifted, reaching down and tilting Beth's chin up. "You're not useless, Beth."

Silence again, save for a bird outside; then Beth blinked, turned away from him, color suffusing her pale cheeks. "I know I'm not," she replied. "But...I want to figure out what I am, instead."

The two young people sat worslessly again for some time, Laure rustling thrrough the papers. Jo had been very tidy with this where she was disorganized in other ways; they had been clipped by region, by price, and certian claims had been underlined, circled in heavy black. Laurie sighed heavily and bit his lip.

"Beth-" he said, and for once his voice wasn't carefully gentle- it was calm, matter-of-fact. "I will need to speak to Dr. Bangs and my grandfather on this, to see if he can offer a recommendation, if he knows their work. If you are determined to do this-" and here, his eyes rested on her steadily- "you must have the best. There are some...unsundry characters who might take advantage. We wish to avoid them."

"All right," Beth said meekly.

"I will...research this and let you know. Perhaps," and the young man stood, towering over her. "...perhaps we had better not-"

"Not tell Father or Marmee till we know more," Beth completed for him. He blinked in surprise; he'd never known little Beth to keepa a secret from her mother or father; but then again, lately they all seemed hugely changed. When he looked back down at Beth, she'd drawn her shawl back round her neck, and was clutching it round her throat with a hand that was nearly transparent in its paleness, it's thiness. She thanked him with a look.

"I'll hurry," said Laurie past a sudden lump in his throat, and went off to do her bidding. 


End file.
